She tries to speak around the gag, but I hold my finger to her lips.
“Gag stays on a little longer.” I stroke her face and lightly fondle her breasts, trying to make this pleasurable instead of frightening. It seems to work. After a few minutes, she makes a soft humming noise and lets her eyes drift closed.
I stroke my hand over her scantily clad ass, admiring her form with my palm. I keep her relaxed and calm this way for more than an hour when our shipping container is finally lifted and transported onto the freight ship.
Once there, I remove her gag. Her lids flutter open. “Where are we?” Her voice sounds hoarse. I fumble in my bag for a bottle of water and lift her to a sitting position to take a drink.
“Are we on a ship?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes are wide and horrified. She looks around the inside of the shipping container. “Why?”
This is how my sister was transported to America.
I don’t tell her that, though. My original idea of reenacting, or mostly pretending to reenact all the things done to Nadia now seems horrific. What was I thinking?
This whole plan is starting to feel half-baked. Is that the real reason I won’t call Ravil back? Because I’m certain he’ll tell me to abort-mission? That I’m out of my mind?
Fuck.
Now I’m not only out of my mind, but I’ve dragged Kat with me. Wild, sweet, beautiful Kat. The girl who is quickly becoming something precious to me.
Even though it’s not safe yet, I pull out my knife and cut her wrists and ankles loose. “Come here, malyshka.” I reach in to lift her out. Instead of using my help to climb out, she clings to me like a koala bear, wrapping her slender legs around my waist and burying her face in my neck.
“I’m sorry, Kateryna. I know that sucked.”
“It did,” she agrees but doesn’t sound all that upset.
I stand holding her, rocking from side to side like she’s a baby needing comfort. After a moment, she says, “I do want to play cage with you, though.”
A puff of laughter escapes my chest. “Good. Because we will have plenty of time to kill on this ship.”
“Where are we going?”
“America.”
“My father isn’t in America.”
My senses sharpen. “Where is he?”
“If I tell you, will you let me go?”
I only consider it for a moment. “Nyet.” It’s impossible. I’d never get near him without her as my bait.
“Why not?” She sounds offended.
“I won’t make you responsible for your father’s demise. That isn’t right.”
“And this is?” She kicks her legs, and I put her down on her feet. She glares at me. “I think you have a contorted notion of right and wrong, Adrian.”
Kat
The haunted quality in Adrian’s expression tells me he agrees. His inner conflict is so palpable, I can practically touch it. I honestly don’t know whether I surrendered to being put in a box because of the CBD gummies he gave me or because he practically begged me not to fight him.
The guy actually tried to seduce me into staying quiet.
He didn’t try–he succeeded, I remind myself.
This experience is going to be ripe fodder for Dr. Delaney. We’ll be picking apart my Stockholm Syndrome for years, I’m sure.
The truth is, I was turned on by the “cage-time” scenario. Adrian’s got my number on that. That very fact alone would probably be reason enough for me to follow him onto a ship to America. Or jump off a cliff if he asked me to.
With him, I know satisfaction is possible. A resolution to the neediness that’s consumed me since I was sent away from home.
At that moment, the metal container we’re in bangs, and with a teeth-gnashing screech, the door swings open.
Adrian lunges for me, capturing me against his solid frame and covering my mouth with his hand.
A man stands in the doorway in a sweat-stained dirty shirt and a scruffy beard. He smells of stale alcohol–the kind that comes through the pores from the night before. He takes in the scene, his gaze lingering on my school-girl outfit and the way Adrian holds me captive, and it turns into a leer.
If I’d thought about recruiting help from him–which, for the record, I hadn’t–it would’ve died the moment I saw that leer.
The guy speaks to Adrian in Russian–something about showing us our room–and Adrian grunts then propels me forward. We follow the guy onto the deck of a cargo ship. My stomach churns when I realize we’re already far from shore.
So much for pottery. Or history. Or my first decent grade point average. Looks like I really am going to America.
By ship.
Adrian speaks to the crew member, who tosses another leering look over his shoulder and replies.
We’re led down a flight of metal stairs to a small bunk room with one bed. Adrian pulls me inside and shuts the door before he releases me.